


Hang Up

by unsettled



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Kinktober, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: The things Peter is saying— it doesn’t matter what Tony thinks about them, what he wants; he needs to hang up right now.Right now. Okay, now. Seriously, now. This second. Or the next.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 34
Kudos: 285
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Hang Up

"Mr. Stark?"

"Peter?" Tony says, a little surprised. "It's— uh, after one am, what's happened?"

"Nothing happened, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. Sighs, long and quiet. “I just missed you. Missed hearing you talk.”

“You missed hearing me talk,” Tony says, slowly. Peter hasn’t called him in ages, not even to leave a voicemail. This is… odd. “That's a new one. So you had to call at this time to tell me?”

“I didn't really think you'd pick up, I guess,” Peter says. “I'm really glad you did. Will you just— talk about something for a while? Is it too weird to ask that?”

It's more than a little weird, and Tony probably shouldn't indulge it, shouldn't give Peter the idea that this is something he should repeat. But Peter sounds oddly forlorn. ‘I missed you’, he'd said, and how long has that been going on? “What do you want to hear about?”

“Anything,” Peter says. “Anything you want to say.”

So Tony rambles a bit, wandering from the newest updates to Peter’s suit to his new global defense system. Peter's quiet, not even asking questions, but Tony can still hear him breathing, still on the line.

Can hear a tiny high pitched noise, almost a whimper, like Peter's hurt.

“You don't sound like yourself, kid,” Tony says, because he won’t get a straight answer if he asks if Peter’s hurt. “Where are you?”

“I'm at home, Mr. Stark. Where are you?”

“In the shop,” Tony answers. “Are you hurt? Are you in the suit— FRIDAY, give me a readout on it— 

“I'm not wearing the suit,” Peter says, dragging it out into a whine. “I'm not wearing anything.”

What.

“Okay, that's—” 

“You could fuck me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, breathy, and Tony's brain completely stops functioning.

“What?” Tony says, nearly squeaks.

“You could fuck me,” Peter says again, so no, Tony did not mishear that. “I'd let you, I'd be happy to let you. I could do whatever you wanted.”

Oh shit, this is bad. “Did you take something?” Tony asks, standing, about two seconds from summoning the armor.

Peter sighs. “I don't have to be drunk to want you to fuck me,” he says. “I want that all the time.”

Okay, so he's drunk, maybe. Still, this is— “Peter—”

“I think about it all the time,” Peter says dreamily. “Think about what it would be like, with you. I've never done it before. You could be my first? Would you like that?” he says, with this awful little thread of vulnerability, and Tony cannot think about what he would like. 

“Or— some people don't,” Peter adds, “maybe you wouldn't. But I think— I think you would. You like new things. You like getting ahead of everyone else.”

“Peter,” Tony says, “listen—”

“I bet you would make it feel so good,” Peter says, like he hasn't even heard Tony. “You're so good at everything else, you're a playboy, right? You could make me feel amazing, I just know it.” He would, Tony thinks, despite himself, he’d make it so amazing; it’s _Peter._ Fuck. No. He can’t think like that.

“I think I'd love it anyway, no matter what,” Peter says, his breath hitching for a second, “because it'd be your dick inside me, but you'd know how to make it the best.” He moans softly, and Tony realizes he's got to be touching himself. Realizes he can hear the sound of Peter's hand on his cock, the soft wet sound of lube and rustling sheets.

He should hang up, right this second.

“I think about what it be like, having you in me. If you'd be big and it'd be hard to take it, if you'd leave me gaping open after,” and god, Peter has a filthy mouth. “How your hands would feel on me,” Peter says, “your mouth, if you'd leave bruises and hickeys, if you bite while you fuck.”

“Peter,” Tony says, his mouth dry, “I'm— I'm going to hang up now. Just—” he closes his eyes. “Drink some water, get some sleep, and this will seem like a dream in the morning.” A really embarrassing dream that, hopefully, they can both pretend never happened. 

Like Tony will ever forget Peter saying those things.

“No," Peter whines. “Please, Mr. Stark, don't go. Don't hang up on me; I'll be good, okay? I'll be quiet and just listen, I can be quiet, I've got lots of practice making sure no one can hear me when I come.” Tony shudders; yeah, he’d bet Peter does, and he’d make all that practice useless if he had Peter in his hands. “Please don't leave me like this though. You can talk about whatever you want. I love your voice.”

How the hell is he supposed to resist that, resist Peter begging him not to go? After everything, how is he supposed to?

“Kid—” 

“Please, please,” Peter whispers. “Or— maybe I could be loud? Be noisy? Would that be better, would you like that better? May's not here, I could be as loud as you want. Would you want to stay for that? I'll give you anything you ask for, Mr. Stark.”

“I'm not asking you for anything,” Tony says, hoarse. “Peter, this isn't— you shouldn't do this, you're going to regret it tomorrow.”

“Who cares about tomorrow,” Peter huffs. “All I want is your dick in me and you talking to me, that's all I'll ever really want. Please, Mr. Stark. Wouldn't you like it?”

“It's not about what I'd like, kid.” Really, really not, and it’s never going to be. Peter deserves a hell of a lot better than that.

“What would you like?” Peter says, low, hungry, and even if it’s put on it’s… really working for Tony. “Would you like it slow? Would you make it last forever, take me apart for hours until I can't think about anything, can't do anything except beg?” Peter whimpers. “I wouldn't last very long, Mr. Stark. I'd be begging from the start.”

“Fuck,” Tony whispers, and his cock is so hard, his cock doesn't care how much of a dirty old man this makes him. He presses the heel of his hand against it; he's not going to get himself off to this. He's not.

But he is going to listen, isn't he.

“Or would you like fast?” Peter says. “Would you bend me over whatever's closest and fuck me like that? Not even get an of our clothes off, just shove my pants down and open yours? You could, you could, Mr. Stark. You could shove in and fuck me and come in me so fast I wouldn't even get a chance to, could leave me like that, still hard and full of your come.” 

Peter’s panting, soft little whines between his words. “I bet your fingers would feel so good in me,” he says, “would feel even better than this, bigger than mine, but you wouldn't have to. I'd be fine if you fucked me dry, I wouldn't care if it hurt, and you couldn't really hurt me.”

“Peter,” Tony breathes out, and he's not going to get off, he's _not._

“You could fuck me however you wanted,” Peter says, moaning. “I might like it if it was hard, if you fucked me hard enough I couldn't breathe, couldn't stay in place. You could tie me up if you wanted, so you fuck me like that and not have to hold me down.” Fuck, Tony thinks, _fuck,_ he could, it would be so easy and Peter— Peter obviously— no, no. 

“But maybe you'd like holding me down? Oh, fuck— god,” Peter says, his voice breaking. “I wish I had your fingers in me instead.”

“You— are you fingering yourself?” and shit, Tony shouldn't have asked that. But he's said it, he's said something about all this now, he's interacted, fuck.

“Yeah,” Peter says, “got one hand on my dick and one in my ass, bet you'd be better at both.”

The picture that gives Tony is dizzying; he can see it so clearly. “How many?” 

"Huh?"

"How many fingers have you got in yourself?” Tony says, every word a mistake and he doesn’t want to take them back.

Peter moans, long and loud. “Two,” he says.

“Get another in there,” because Tony is the fucking worst.

“Yessir," Peter says, and at this point, Tony may not even have to touch himself to get off.

“God, Peter,” he says.

“Would you fuck me on my back?” Peter asks, his breathing growing harsher. “Bend me in half and fuck me like that, so I can see you, could kiss you? Or—” he gasps, whines, “or would you flip me over and fuck me into the bed, put your hand on my back and shove my face down until I couldn't breathe? Maybe you'd have me on the side of the bed, grab my hips and fuck me like that, maybe—”

“Watch a lot of porn, do you?” Tony says, breathing harder himself.

“Not a lot,” Peter says. “What's in my head is better. It's easier to imagine it’s you that way.”

Tony can imagine it too, and it's going to kill him if that's all he ever gets, these words and those imagined things. They're never going to leave his mind.

“What would you want, baby?” Tony asks. "I want to hear you tell me.”

“Oh god,” Peter gasps. “Mr. Stark, I— he whimpers, and Tony can hear the wet sounds, can hear the bed squeaking a little.

“Don't come until you've told me,” Tony snaps, and judging by the choked off noise he makes, Peter likes getting orders.

“I'd want— I'd want you to pull me into your lap,” Peter says, his voice cracking, “and kiss me. Make out with me for a while until I'm grinding against you, can't stop myself. You— oh, god, you could tell me what a slut I am for it, tell me I'm wasted on anything except being your toy,” and Tony can't take it one second longer, ripping down his zipper and yanking his cock out. “Fuck,” Peter whispers, “fuck, did you just— are you getting off too? Please, are you?”

Tony shudders. Groans despite himself. “Yeah,” he says. “God Peter, listen to yourself, how could I not?”

“Tony,” Peter moans, and that alone nearly does Tony in.

“Come on, kid,” Tony says, stroking his cock, tight, fast. “Tell me the rest of it, get me off.”

“I— fuck, fuck, Tony, please—”

“Tell me.”

“You could mark me up,” Peter says. “Bite me, give me hickeys, get your hand around my throat while you opened me up. Could try and make them last so everybody would know I'd been fucked by you, oh Tony— Tony, you could, please,” Peter begs. “Could finger me until I'm begging for your dick, and then pull me up and drop me right down on it, make me ride you until you came. Maybe— maybe you'll tell me I couldn't come until you did, or couldn't at all—” 

“No,” Tony gasps out, “no, baby, I'd want to see you come, want to see how pretty you'd look like that. Want you to come on my cock just like that, pull your head back and watch while you did.”

“Tony,” Peter moans, “Tony, oh god, yes, _please.”_

He can almost picture it, almost imagine what Peter would feel like bouncing on his cock, tightening around it and coming, would look like; he already knows how Peter can flush, knows what he looks like when he's startled, when he's sweaty and worn out— fuck, how is he ever supposed to look at Peter in any of those situations again and not want?

“Please,” Peter whispers, “Tony, please, please, you could do that, I'd want it, I would. Fuck, Tony— Tony, please, can I? Can I? I'm so—” he breaks off with a whimper.

“Yes,” Tony tells him. “Go on, kid, let me hear you come.”

“Tony," Peter gasps, and then his breath catches, a second of silence before he lets it out, this gorgeous loud groan, breaking into softer, higher whimpers that just go on and on until Peter sucks in another shaking breath. “Tony,” he breathes out,” oh god, fuck, Tony.”

_“Fuck,”_ Tony says, fucking into his hand, and the sound of Peter coming, coming nearly on his command, that hits him hard enough that he's coming almost before he realizes it.

There's no words for a while after that, just Tony panting, slowly calming as he listens to Peter's ragged breathing.

Where the hell are they going to go from here?

“Peter,” he says, and gets nothing. “Peter? Hey, kid, talk to me.”

There's just the soft sound of Peter's breaths, even, quiet. Tony smiles, slowly. “You fall asleep?” he says, even if Peter can't hear him.

“Alright,” Tony says. “Sweet dreams, baby. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

And tomorrow— if tomorrow Peter still wants, can still say any of those things— 

Tony will find a way for it to happen.


End file.
